


The Completely Fucked Up but Entirely Platonic Courtship of Linda Karib and Mickey Milkovich

by StarsAreMassive



Series: Encounters with Exes [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Insecure Mickey Milkovich (brief), M/M, Mentions of Pedophilia, Mickey/Linda friendship, Protective Ian Gallagher, gay slurs, past sexual abuse (canon), so much cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive
Summary: As Mickey finds his footing after prison and forges new relationships, a familiar face blows back into town.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Kash Karib, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Linda Karib & Mickey Milkovich, Linda Karib/Kash Karib
Series: Encounters with Exes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582132
Comments: 16
Kudos: 288





	The Completely Fucked Up but Entirely Platonic Courtship of Linda Karib and Mickey Milkovich

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as my 'Black and Yellow', and 'Tying the Knot' series.
> 
> Trigger warnings: mentions of canonical pedophilic relationship; very. brief mention of sexual assault. 
> 
> I started writing these series before season 10 came out, so now it's a bit AU. 
> 
> So I hate Kash. This much will be clear by the end of the fic. That being said, this fic is told through the perspective of a range of anti-Kash characters, and makes no attempt to tell his side of the story. That being said, I completely understand that many people don't come to terms with their sexuality until later in life and that can lead to some difficult and deeply personal choices. This fic should in no way be taken as representative of those experiences. I just really fucking hate Kash - and all child abusers, really.
> 
> Also, I changed the title as I realised it was very nearly unwittingly plagiarising the brilliant fic 'The Iron Linda' by the wonderful Shamelessquestions.

You see, the thing was, Mickey and Linda were friends. Sorta. In the way that two people who kind of couldn’t stand to be around each other for too long, who constantly bitched at each other, and went out of their way to fuck up each others’ day, could be considered friends.

It had started when Mickey had been in dire need of some smokes at the ass crack of dawn, the morning after he’d been released from Beckman. Nevermind that Gallagher was going to give him hell for it, no doubt full of sappy, romantic notions of waking up all wrapped up in each other their first morning being together again. 

Well. Fuck that. Mickey needed a smoke and he needed it yesterday. Some of them hadn’t acclimatised to the life of the non-institutionalised yet, thank you very fuckin’ much. 

Dawn was still hiding the shittiest parts of Southside under the stale, dirty light of not-quite morning, as Mickey hauled his ass down to the Kash ‘n’ Grab. The streets were pretty much abandoned and Mickey felt like he was in damn horror movie, and Gallagher seriously better not take this as a sign of things to come; because the only thing Mickey wanted more than a smoke was to lie in bed all damn day. 

Fuck prison and his body clock, too. 

The bell tinkled as Mickey pushed the door open, and the clothed head of the cashier jolted up in surprise. Mickey barely glanced at them, and beelined straight for the barbecue pringles. Yeah, he still knew that shit from memory, so what? Except, instead of pringles, it was full of tampons, fruity shampoo, and all that girly shit. 

“The fuck?!”

A low sigh floated from the register. “Mickey Milkovich. I thought that was you.”

Mickey peered over the rack, and if his feet weren’t entirely flat on the ground so he could do so, that was nobody else’s business. There, with arms folded and an arched brow, stood the iron fucking lady herself. 

“Shit. Linda? The fuck are you doing here?”

“You got cash with you?” She ignored him.

“Huh?”

“I’m telling you now, I am in no mood to get robbed again. So of that’s your plan, you can get out right now, because the way my week’s going, I might just shoot you.”

Mickey's brothers always laughed at him when he refused to rob the Kash ‘n’ Grab when Linda was around. They had never believed him when he said that she was a scary bitch. He kinda wished he’d filmed this so he could prove it to ‘em once and for all. That’s if he could get them to watch it before they knocked his gay teeth right out the back of his big gay head. Fuckers. Mini-Terrys, all of ‘em. 

“No thanks,” he sneered, eventually. “Been shot enough times in this place.”

He could see the bitch's eyes light up at the memory. “Hmm. The only good thing my child-fucking faggot husband ever did. No offense.”

Mickey’s brows shot high. “No offense to fuckin’ what? I ain’t no child-fucker and I sure as shit ain’t a faggot.”

Linda snorted. “I thought you came out at your son’s christening?”

“Lady, I’m gay. Bein’ gay and bein’ a fag ain’t the same thing.”

Linda rolled here eyes and Mickey (rather heroically, he thought), chose to ignore it. He gestured at the shelves in front of him in disgust, instead. “Where the fuck do you keep the pringles?”

“Back wall on the left.”

Mickey swept in like he was heat-seeking those motherfuckers. He grabbed a couple of cans and tossed them onto the counter. “Some cigs,” he barked at Linda. “Cheapest ya got.”

She tossed some high shelf brand in front of him which were at least three bucks over his meagre, fresh outta prison “budget”. Mickey peered up at her smirking face. “That’s real cute.”

“You don’t want to help out a struggling local business, Milkovich?”

“Eat my ass, Linda.”

She snatched the pack back and replaced it with a generic, all white, nasty looking brand Mickey had never even heard of. “I’ll leave that to Gallagher.”

As she rung him up, three sniggering little shits tripped through the door. They stumbled, clearly not expecting to come face to face with Mickey and Linda’s wall of stink eye. As the kids shuffled in and browsed the shelves, they kept their eyes of them, even as Mickey paid and Linda gave him his change, When she had to duck under the counter for a bag, the opportunistic bastards quickly stuffed some candy into their pockets. 

_Cute little fuckers_ , Mickey thought.

Being an opportunist himself, Mickey seized upon the moment in front of him. As Linda bagged him up, he asked, “You want me to work security again?”

Linda laughed at him and mickey wasn’t all that offended. “Uh, no thanks. I’m not that desperate, yet.”

Mickey took his bag and shrugged. “Whatever let me know if you change your mind. By the way, I’d check they shitheads’ pockets if I were you.”

Mickey blew out the store leaving four sets of eyes blinking after him. Linda’s shrieking followed him down the street.

* * *

It had taken Linda a solid couple of months to fold. By then, Mickey was working weekdays for a “boat repair service” for shitty pay, so he’d agreed to help Linda out on weekends for even shittier pay. But whatever. It was kinda worth it for the way Gallagher had smiled at him and said, _“Mickey Milkovich workin’ two legit jobs, huh?”_ Like he was proud or some shit. Weird. 

And so began the completely fucked up but entirely platonic courtship of Mickey Milkovich and Linda Karib. Whilst other friends went shopping or hung out at the movies, Linda and Mickey insulted each other at least once an hour and gave each other the finger. Mickey liked to leave things on the floor for Linda to trip over when she had her arms full of new stock and couldn’t see where she was going. Linda liked to leave the rotten fruit and veg for Mickey to deal with, because she loved to see him dry heave and gag at the smell. 

As soon as he figured out she was dating, Mickey made it his mission to drag Linda about the guys who turned up at the store to take her out for lunch. ( _“Don’t hurry back now kids, eating clams takes time.”_ ) Whenever Ian turned up, Linda liked to take at least fifteen minutes listing all the reasons why he should leave Mickey. But, Linda also learned how to read the signs that Mickey has having a really bad day, and when to let him escape to the stock room to regroup. Mickey knew the exact tone of voice Linda used when she couldn’t take one more piece of shit from her brat kids, so he’d snap at them so she could play good cop for once. If any of Mickey’s old acquaintances stopped by to try and tempt him back to his old ways, Linda would chase them off by pretending to call the cops. Linda had this bitch of a thing with her lower back - something about the youngest kid, and pregnancy and other gross shit he tried to tune out. So Mickey didn’t even ask and just hip-checked her out the damn way whenever she tried to lift the crates of heavy shit. He grumbled and claimed it was save his _“damn ears from you incessant bitching, fuck.”_ _“Since when did you say ‘Incessant’? Do a lot of reading in prison, Mickey?”_

Mickey had been working there for four months - plenty of time to get to know the belligerent shrew well enough that he clocked her cagey attitude pretty fast. He’d had to re-shelve nearly all the stock she’d put out in the morning. The salt was in with the talc, she’d put some chocolate in with the ice creams, and he’d even unearthed a can of peaches from the fresh veggies. She’d been relegated to the register until Mickey saw some smirking motherfucker try to sneak out the door when Linda had accidentally given him a twenty in his change instead of a five. He’d collared the guy at the door, twisted his wrist, and taken it back with a sneer and a _“Have a nice day, jackass.”_ Linda barely even reacted as he slammed to bill down in front of her and glared. 

It wasn’t until the afternoon slump and an hour left of Mickey’s shift - because somehow he found himself Shanghaied into a Gallagher _Lets-meet-Debbie’s-new-boyfriend_ shit show of a dinner later, and Ian insisted he needed to skip outta work early to help - that he’d finally had enough. He’d been painstakingly building a cigarette carton tower, bored outta his fuckin’ mind, when Linda’s phone burst out shrill beeps. Linda, who’d been sweeping the floor, nearly dived over the counter for her purse, demolishing the Milkovich Motel. 

“Fuckin’ _Christ_ , Linda! Where’s the damn fire?!”

But Linda ignored him. She started tearing tissues, her sunglasses, a lighter, some keys, all out of her purse to get to her beeping cellphone. When she finally got her clutches on it, she stabbed the answer key, thrust it to her ear and barked, “Why the _fuck_ are you calling me, you worthless piece of _shit?!_ I told you to take you bags and get the fuck out of my house. The boys will be home from swimming soon and I don’t want - no, you don’t get to fucking see them! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, KASH!”

Mickey dropped the cartons he’d been reassembling and looked at Linda in surprise. She threw her cell on the counter, and dropped her head into her hands. Kash. Mickey could sympathise with the rage that name could inspire in a person, especially whenever Ian demonstrated his total inability to understand that he was taken advantage of by a fuckin’ pedophile. Apparently it didn’t count as abuse if you were the one sticking it in, the moron. Seriously, that boy’s proclivity for wrinkled old man balls was a goddamn problem. 

Mickey watched Linda breathe - or try to anyway. To him, she sounded on the edge of a panic attack - an anger attack? Was that a thing? Micky thought it might be as he studied Linda’s shaking hands and purpling face. 

“So,” he drawled, causing Linda to flash him a hard glare. “You’re kid-fuckin’ homo of a husband is back in town, huh?”

Linda grabbed his ears with her talons and set about trying to smash his head on the counter. 

“ _Holy shit!_ Get the fuck off me, bitch!”

“Fuck you, Milkovich! Fuck you! You think you’re hot shit? You think you’re funny, huh?!”

Mickey grabbed her wrist and twisted it. He just missed the slap coming right for his face by ducking under the counter. “Calm your fucking ass, Linda! Jesus. It’s not me you wanna sock in the fuckin’ mouth.”

Linda slapped the counter. “I’m pretty sure it is,” she hissed. 

Mickey popped back up and straightened his shirt. “Well not more than fuckin’ usual. Don’t take it out on me because you’re pissy at that shit stain you chose to marry.”

And like his words were needles, Linda deflated like a balloon. She slumped against the counter and laughed, and Mickey dutifully ignored that it was dangerously close to sounding like a sob. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “What on earth was I thinking?”

Mickey chewed his lip. Deeming it safe, he came around to join her and propped himself next to her. “Not like he’s even good looking. And you certainly didn’t fall for his charm. Did he at least have money before he spent it all on this shit hole?”

Linda snorted. “The store’s mine, asshole. Kash just worked it. I don’t know,” she sighed. “I guess I thought he was sweet, sensitive. Guess I know why, now.”

Mickey threw his arms out. “The fuck? Don’t stereotype, bitch. Do you see me over here with some kleenex, cryin’ over the state f the world and askin’ how your days was? Fuck off with that noise.”

Linda shook her head and stared at the floor. “Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Well,” Mickey said, thumbing his nose. “You might not wanna tell your kids that, huh?”

And then Linda fixed him with a look. It wasn’t a glare, or a baleful roll of the eyes. It was more curious, a little calculating, and then she asked it. “Do you regret marrying your wife?”

The question blindsided Mickey. He avoided thinking about Svetlana. When Ian had been feeling particularly good about his therapy, and wanted to share the 'benefit of his experience' or some shit, he liked to say that Mickey was compartmentalising. A coping mechanism. Mickey called him a nosy fuck and told him to leave well enough alone. Even when he thought about Yevgeny, Mickey just blocked out how he got his son in the first place. Tried to remember the chubby cheeks that had kept filling out. The curl of his hair the last time Svetlana had brought him to see him. The softness only kids had. 

Under the weight of Linda’s gaze, Mickey eventually bit out, “Ex-wife. And, uh, it wasn’t - that shit wasn’t by choice. So you know, fuck you. You still made worse life choices than me.”

Linda let him deflect and they both sat quiet, contemplating shitty marriages. They both nearly leapt out their skin when the bell above the door tinkled. Like a hero in those cheesy as fuck action movies they loved, Ian stood in the doorway with the afternoon sun behind him. Linda heaved a relieved sigh, and Mickey inhaled a deep breathe, Ian's presence instantly calming. 

Ian paused and took stock of them, staring at him like deer caught in the headlights. He closed the door carefully behind him and took a few tentative steps. 

“Uh, hi?” he said, edging forward. “Everything okay in here?”

Like someone had lit a fire up under them, Linda and Mickey sprung back to life. 

“Yeah, man -”

“Yup, never better -”

“Why would you - ?”

“Everything’s totally fine.”

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“It’s not Mickey’s break yet, so -”

Ian stared, bemused as they rambled on and tried to look busy - because clearly, picking up a few canned goods and putting them back in the exact same place was a top priority for the store. Snapping out of it, he threw his hands in the air. “You know what, I don’t even have the time to unpack whatever the fuck that was. Mickey, you’re late, and we gotta go.”

It took Mickey a couple of looks between Ian and the clock above the counter for Mickey to click. 

“Oh, shit. Fiona’s fuckin’… _thing_. Christ, give me two seconds.”

Ian looked on as Mickey scurried to the back of the store to stash his vest and grab his things. He heard Mickey hollering to Linda that he was gone, when the tinkling of the door chimed again. He felt the hot air - because it was hot as balls outside, frankly - skirt his neck, as the customer shuffled in, but went no further. After the soft thunk of the door closing back over, they hadn’t taken another step and Ian, loitering by the counter, spun around, thinking he was blocking the way. 

“Sorry, I - “and whatever apology was on Ian’s lips, died as he saw who was standing behind him. 

“Holy shit,” Ian whispered. _“Kash?”_

He was older. That was Ian’s first thought - and he’d appreciate the irony of that later once his brain had caught up and his stomach didn’t feel like he’d just downed a gallon of ice. His dark hair was speckled with grey. He had a moustache now, and that was greying too. Whilst the few lines he’d had way back when had made him look mature and distinguished, now Ian could read the stress and the age in all the ones he’d come back with. His belly looked a bit softer, his clothes a little less fashionable. Ian remembered how Kash used to love it when he complimented his clothes. But underneath it all, it was still undeniably Kash. In Linda’s store. With Mickey draggin' his heels in the back because he didn't want to go to another Gallagher family dinner. And Ian didn't quite know what to do with the whole situation. 

But Kash’s face erupted into a smile before Ian could get his bearings and do something.

“Ian,” he breathed. “I - wow. It’s so good to see you.” And without further ado, Kash lurched forward and hugged him. 

Ian’s brain stalled out on him, and his arms hung useless by his side as Kash showed no signs of letting go anytime soon. Instead, he burrowed closer, moved his face closer to Ian’s neck and breathed deep. The intimacy of it - his favourite thing to do whenever he returned to Mickey after a few hours, a day, weeks apart - kicked Ian back into gear. Pissed all the way off at Kash’s presumption, Ian brought his hands up, flattened them against Kash’s arms, and made to shove him away, preferably right out the door if he pushed hard enough, when Mickey announced his return.

“The fuck am I even looking at right now?”

Ian whipped around to look at him, relieved that back up had arrived. Mickey looked less than pleased and it took Ian a second to realise that we was standing there, hands resting against Kash, as the fuckin’ moron still hadn't let go of him. 

“Shit, no,” Ian spat, and shoved Kash hard, pleased to hear a heavy grunt from the older man as he fought to keep his balance. “Absofuckinglutely not, Mick.”

But Kash - and oh, Ian hated his fifteen-year-old self right now - had the balls to sound wounded as he stared at his old flame. “What the hell was that for? C’mere, Ian. Come on. I had no idea you were her but god, it’s so _good_ to -”

But what exactly Kash thought was so good was to remain a mystery. Linda’s cold voice finally joined them and she emerged from the back. “I don’t know if you’re incredibly bold, or just that monumentally stupid for coming here when I explicitly told you not to, Kash.”

Kash dropped the hand that had been reaching out for Ian. Ian hadn’t even noticed it and looked between it and its owner in alarm. Kash could barely look at her. His eyes darted between her feet and a spot just above her head, and Mickey couldn’t hold back his scoff if his life depended on it. This fucker had all the courage of a turd when it came to his ex-wife, but could fuck a kid, no problem. He idly wondered if he was still doing it, trying to manipulate teenage boys who didn’t know any better. He vowed to try and find out before Kash left town. Mickey couldn’t do anything himself being on parole, but now that he’d made up with his brothers, he wasn’t exactly short on resources that would keep his hands relatively clean. 

“You can’t keep my kids from me, Linda.” Kash’s voice was strong, but it would have been a hell of a lot more effective if he hadn’t been inspecting his shoes. 

Linda folded her arms. “The fuck I can’t.”

Mickey piped in, "I don’t know much about family law, but I’m pretty sure that a pedo wouldn’t be the winning bet in any custody case, Kash N’ Grab.” He dutifully ignored the glare Ian sent his way, recognising the dig for what it was. 

Kash sneered at him, and Mickey was pretty good with being an easier target than an ex-wife or an ex-totally illegal boyfriend. He had a thing or two on his mind to say anyway.

“Who’s even talking to you? Why aren’t you in prison anyway - aren’t you a disappointment to the Milkovich name if you aren’t on death row by the time you’re thirty?”

Mickey smirked. “Oh yeah, I’m a big ol’ disappointment. Upstanding citizen, bonafide cockhound, you name it. Just got outta prison a few months ago, actually. Ian, too. We could tell you a few things about what happens to cho-mo’s in there. That shit’s enough to turn ya grey. Looks like you’re already half way there, though.”

Kash gaped between Mickey and Linda, and turned to Ian, beseeching. “Ian, you’re not gonna let them say this shit? It was never like that - you know that!”

Linda was furious. “He was a _kid_ , Kash.”

“He didn’t know shit, asswipe,” said Mickey. “He was fuckin’ fifteen -”

“Mickey,” Ian tried to head him off, but it was no good. He and Linda were on a roll. 

“You were his closeted, married, employer. The fuck was he supposed to do?”

“And when he finally wised up and left you for someone else his own age, you _shot_ his boyfriend in the leg.”

Kash nearly laughed. “Mickey was not his boyfriend. Mickey was a piece of shit. Still is by the sounds of it,” and Mickey got the heavy side eye. “I was the hero of the damn neighbourhood.”

Whatever embarrassment, humiliation or whatever feelings he’d have to process later, Ian had been feeling as Linda and Mickey spoke so frankly about this "relationship" with Kash, burned away the second he started shit talking Mickey. His Mickey, who had been beaten down in every sense of the word his whole fucking life, and was constantly told he was nothing - being looked down on by this asshole? He didn’t fuckin’ think so. 

Ian’s spine snapped to attention, his fist clenched and his jaw tightened as he stepped up into Kash’s space. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Kash took a step back in surprise, but Ian wasn’t even close to done and didn't even let Mickey’s shit eating grin in his periphery derail him. “You don’t get to say shit to Mickey. You like to think he’s a piece of shit? We’ve done a lot of stupid shit in our life, but he’s a thousand times the man you could ever be.”

Linda joined him. “It’s been Mickey who’s been helping me make sure I don’t get robbed blind these past few months. It’s been Mickey who fixed my car so I didn’t have to drag my ass all the way to the garage. It’s been Mickey, who’s babysat _your_ sons, so I could get a damn break once in a while. Where the fuck were you?”

Mickey leapt at the opportunity. “Oh yeah. I’ve been instrumental in getting your ex-wife laid on the reg.”

Kash looked disgusted. “You let him around our kids?”

“Least I don’t fuck ‘em!” Mickey chirped cheerfully.

“You haven’t even tried to talk to the boys in years. What, you’ve been too busy gettin’ plowed by teenage boys?! They asked for you every single night! Kamal doesn’t even know who you are!”

Ian pressed close into Micky’s side and murmured low into his ear. “Speaking of getting laid on the regular. If you ever wanna see my dick again, we’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Fiona will cut it off and throw it down the garbage disposal, if we’re any later.”

Mickey tensed and Ian placed a large hand over his lower back and pressed in. “Don’t gotta worry about Linda. She’s got this. I've seen her wipe the floor with Kash a million times. Come on.”

With a gentle push, and Mickey’s nod to Linda over Kash’s shoulder - a silent promise of back up if she needed it - Ian steered them out the door and into another stifling Chicago summer afternoon. 

Despite the heat, Ian didn’t remove his hand from Mickeys back. He stroked in rhythmic circles with his thumb, feeling the tension roiling through him, despite his easy stride. He grabbed a soft, gentle handful of Mickey’s t-shirt and slowed their step, pressed a little harder to get his boyfriend’s attention. 

“Hey,” Ian murmured. “You okay?”

Even though Ian was the Irish one, Mickey had mastered the Gaelic shrug, hands down. 

“You worried about Linda?”

Mickey scoffed. “Fuck no, man. That battle axe can handle her own business.”

Ian laughed easy. “Don’t I know it. So what is it then?”

“What’s what?”

“What’s got ya so tense, Mick - and don’t you lie to me.” Mick shut his mouth against whatever automatic retort had been on the tip on his tongue. 

He huffed a sigh and fell silent. The sounds of a hot Chicago summer - kids screaming and laughing in the distance, cars roaring and coughing, the spray of water from hoses - joined the scuff of their shoes of the sticky tarmac. Mickey eyed their surroundings. Ian didn’t think that need to be watchful was ever going to leave him. Eventually, Mickey kept glancing at the ground near Ian's feet, and Ian waited him out. 

“Do you ever think, uh, that I’m - I don't know - that I’m like him? Kind of.”

Ian’s scandalised look would have been comical if Mickey wasn’t avoiding eye contact like Ian was the modern day descendant of Medusa. “The fuck, Mickey?!” Ian hadn’t been expecting anything like that. Mickey was a long-term member and president of the Trash Kash Club. Whenever the topic came up, Mickey was always ready with a rousing and animated rendition of Kash’s faults. Lip was a big fan, and Ian had seen that fucker deliberately raise the subject when Mickey was three sheets to the wind and in fine form. 

“In what universe are you anything like Kash?”

Mickey gave another of those shrugs and tried to shift Ian’s hand off his back, but Ian held firm. 

“Just. Linda’s spewin’ all that shit about him walkin’ out and takin’ shit to do with his kids. How’s that any different from what I did?”

Seriously, Ian didn’t know how he was still standing. Mickey hadn’t mentioned Svetlana or Yevgeny since prison. Ian had no idea they were on his mind at all. Normally, that would be an indictment of Southside fatherhood, but as he’d come to understand in therapy, Yevgeny was a whole other issue, and Ian was indignant that Mickey could compare his relationship with him, to Kash's with his kids. 

“Mickey, that is not the same and you know it. I know you don’t want to hear it,” Ian steamrolled over Mickey’s scoffs and eyerolls. “But we both know the circumstances of Yevgeny's conception weren’t exactly consensual.”

“Fuck off with that shit, Ian,” Mickey warned low and growling. Ian held placating hands up until Mickey’s hackles came down. 

“I know. You’re not ready, I get it. We’ll get you there, but that day is not today.” Mickey dutifully ignored Ian’s bare-faced determination to get him into therapy. “But,” Ian stopped them in the middle of the street and placed his hands firmly over Mickey’s hips. “Kash pretended to love his wife everyday of decades. He lied to her since the day he met her. He loved and raised his sons their whole lives until he decided they weren’t enough, and walked straight outta their lives.” Mickey looked mollified - or as close to mollified as a Milkovich let themselves get. They were no blushing schoolgirls looking for validation. Ian took a deep breath, and prepared to put the final nail in this particular coffin. “And as far as I know,” he tugged Mickey closer, “You’ve never groomed a teenage boy to get your rocks off and made him feel special so he wouldn’t tell your wife.”

Just like that the clouds cleared from Mickey’s eyes and a bit of sparkle came back to the blue. Mickey’s grimace turned into one of Ian's favourite smirks and he peered up through black lashes. “Did I just hear Ian Gallagher see the fuckin’ light? Where’s the hallelujah chorus? Fuckin’ angels fallin’ from the sky and shit.”

“Oh my god shut the fuck up!”

“Seriously?! All that therapy and all I had to do to get you to admit your ex-boyfriend was a pedo was put on the sad eyes? I should open up a clinic.”

It was the Southside of Chicago. It was so hot that there was a sweaty hand print against Mickey's back where Ian had pressed against him. The streets were far from empty. But Ian didn't give a fuck about any of that and tugged Mickey against him and kissed him, full and hot. Mickey gripped his biceps, his tongue touched against the gentle parting of Ian’s lips softly, before pulling away, breathing a laugh against them. Ian sighed back. 

“You beautiful motherfucker,” Ian whispered n the heat. “You say something so stupid about yourself again, I’ll punch you in the dick.”

Mickey laughed and skipped away. “Yeah, okay tough guy. Like you’d ever endanger my cock. Now move your ass. We’re late as fuck and I can’t deal with a pissy Fiona today. You’re taking the heat for this one, just so you know.”

Like Ian wouldn’t do anything for him, anyway. It was practically a Southside Law at this point. 


End file.
